


Quiet Release, Fever In Me

by missgoalie75



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Lydia having their first conversation about the kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Release, Fever In Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictocriticism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictocriticism/gifts).



> Originally prompted on tumblr by fictocriticism as a drabble. hah.
> 
> Title is from "A Stillness" by The Naked and Famous.
> 
> NOTE: there are brief 'spoilers' for 3B, but it's really just taking hints given and running away with it.
> 
> [(rebloggable on tumblr here)](http://missgoalie75.tumblr.com/post/65208298337/teen-wolf-fic-quiet-release-fever-in-me-stiles-lydia)

It's gone unsaid for so long and Stiles has actually had a lot of dreams-in-which-he-really-was-awake about having a legitimate conversation with her about the Kiss and yes, it's capitalized in his mind because it was a momentous occasion, despite the fact that it was to stop a panic attack and not in any way romantic, really.

(Well, he thinks it may have been after the fact, but. He's been trying not to think about it, really. Too much, anyway.)

So when he blurts it out while they're looking up kitsune mythology for clues as to why the hell they're in Beacon Hills, it seems normal.

At least until he watches the grip on her pen tighten and her lips purse together; she's never had that reaction in any of his awake-dream-fantasies _-whatever_.

"Oh god, I'm actually awake. Awake-awake," he says in absolute horror. "And with you there _damn it_ I mean, I've thought about it a lot sitting alone in my room if I actually said it out loud _then_ , it wouldn't be a big deal since _you wouldn't be there_ , although that would've given me the extra worry that I'm going Super Crazy, like, crazier than I already am –"

"Stiles."

" – I'm sorry, I really am, I know this was like, some sort of _unsaid_ subject between us since you were with Aiden, well, sort of, _now_ you are, well. No, now you're not. That happened, your breaking up, but –"

Instead of trying his name again, she reaches over and claps a hand over his mouth, which shuts him up. "You really need to sleep and cut any and all caffeinated drinks out of your diet," she tells him, but her eyes are soft and she drops her hand.

"Yeah, my doctor always says to avoid those things, but. Can't sleep, can't stay awake – it's very maddening. Maddening. That sounds weird – that doesn't seem like a word to me. But it is a word, right? Maddening?"

" _You're_ maddening," she sighs, running a hand through her hair, which is bouncy with curls. He's a little mesmerized by how they bounce and reflect the light from his bedside lamp. Actually, she looks really pretty in this lighting – from his bedroom. She should be in his room more often. Or all the time. Whatever she wants.

"Wow, you're _really_ out of it," she mutters, a strange cross between startled and embarrassed, her cheeks turning pink.

He doesn't think he's ever seen her _blush_.

"I did it again, didn't I?"

She stands up and abruptly says, "Please don't take this in a sexual manner."

"What?"

She pulls him up by the front of his shirt and leads him back to his bed, pushing him down onto the mattress.

"Wow, are you kidding me, Lydia? You're the smartest person ever – you know how easily teenage boys get boners – that was just unfair," Stiles grumbles, at least having the right state of mind to not adjust himself in front of her and settles with using his pillow to cover his lap.

She rolls her eyes and sits down on the edge of his bed. "Just go to sleep. We're not going to _solve the mystery_ tonight, at any rate."

They stare at each other for a few seconds before he yawns, big and no doubt really unattractively. He slips off his shoes and he reaches for his belt, but remembers Lydia is still in his room, and instead gets under his comforter and takes off his pants in bed.

She smiles at him fondly. "When you're not being an insane, annoying spaz, you're somewhat adorable."

He rests his back against his pillow and smiles a little dopily. "Somewhat?"

"Somewhat."

It's at least one in the morning and usually – or at least if this was Scott – he'd scoot over and share the bed, but –

She starts unlacing and slipping out of her wedged boots.

"Uh?"

"You have anything I can wear? This can't be wrinkled," she asks, gesturing to her dress.

Too tongue-tied to respond properly, he points to his middle drawer. She pulls out a nondescript grey shirt and the indoor track shorts he got freshman year (he never did that again – it was the worst experience of his life) and he turns his head to look at the wall, repeating over and over to keep staring at the wall, that it's the most interesting thing in the world, especially in comparison to Lydia Martin being potentially half naked – oh what the _fuck_ is he even _doing_ –

He turns his head slowly, but Lydia is already going over to the bed, looking beyond _words_ in his clothes and _ohmygodshe'snotwearingabra_ he's going to _die._  
  
"Give a lady some space," she demands, lifting the blanket and crawling into _his bed_.

He has a full bed, but she's still _really_ close, close enough that he can smell her body lotion or perfume or whatever the hell she's wearing to make her smell wonderful.

(He supposes he should be grateful that his dad will be working all night, but he'll get an earful in the morning, no doubt.)

She turns off his lamp and he's temporarily blind in the darkness. She finds his hand gripping the sheets and his irrational anxiety eases away (there's a reason why he's been sleeping with a light on lately).

"No warning about keeping my hands to myself?" he half jokes out of nerves.

His eyes are starting to adjust in the darkness and he can see her raise an eyebrow. "Stiles. You took your pants off _under a blanket_. I don't think that's necessary."

"Right. I did do that." He feels his face grow hot. "That was a little dumb. Can I blame the exhaustion and overall mental deterioration?"

She removes her hand off his to pat his cheek. "Sure."

He can feel her hand slip away and since he's on a roll with being a crazy person tonight, he places his hand on top of hers to keep it there. They don't say anything for a few moments until he eloquently says, "Uh."

He hears her take a shaky breath, but doesn't move.

"I thought I was kind of over it, you know," he admits, his voice quiet. "But sometimes…you smile or you say something so…typical Lydia that it just. Comes back. But it's different, like. I know you a little better now, so it's more real. It hurts more, but. It's better. If that makes sense." He laughs under his breath self-consciously. "That was probably the most ridiculous thing that's come out of my mouth, although, to be honest, nothing can really top my talking about seeing doors and hearing my mom's voice on the other side and wow, yep, I've just shared that one." He shifts so he's resting on his back, letting go of her hand. "Just pretend you didn't hear that."

He hears her settle back and roll over to her side. He reluctantly looks over at her, turning to face her properly when he sees the vulnerability all over her face.

"What?"

She runs a tongue over her bottom lip and a surge of _want_ goes straight to his dick; he seriously doubts he'll be able to fall asleep properly.

"I'm trying to reach the other side," she reveals, voice hushed. "Sometimes I hear voices – mostly in my sleep, but sometimes I'll pass a graveyard or a house and I'll hear…muffled voices. Like I'm standing outside of a door. I hope I'll be able to hear properly with enough practice – I'm sure that'll be helpful."

"…You'll be like a Ouija board?"

She snorts. "That can be one of my many talents and abilities."

"You already have too many – share the wealth," he jokes.

"…I'll edit the previous statement by removing the 'somewhat.'"

He beams with pride, which is dumb since he's pretty sure he shouldn't be happy about having the girl he's seriously half in love with call him _adorable_ like he's a puppy, but he's delirious. Whatever, it's fine.

They're quiet for a few minutes and he thinks she maybe fell asleep – he does have an admittedly awesome bed – when she says in a barely audible whisper, "You're not the only one feeling something, Stiles."

He stops breathing.

"I think I'm dreaming," he responds.

"Cute."

"How do I know this is actually happening and not a wild fantasy because, you know, trust me, I've had a number with this whole not really sleeping thing. I mean you've been a witness to it twice already."

She sighs tiredly, inching closer. "I doubt a kiss will help?"

"It might convince me that it's definitely a dream, so. Opposite effect."

She smiles sadly. "What a pity. I guess I'll just sleep on the floor…" she shrugs her shoulders and pulls the covers off her, shorts pooled down her thighs and as she stands, he stretches his hand out to grip her wrist and pull her back down, closer.

She exhales and bounces on the mattress, breath tickling his mouth and she's _laughing_.

"Okay, reality, got it."

They stare at each other and he thinks it's okay to kiss her, but –

"I'm totally not reading this wrong, right? I can definitely kiss you?"

Lydia takes a deep breath, as if begging for patience. "Yes, Stiles."

"Okay, cool, here I go."

" _Really_? Can you actually be a normal human being for once?"

"Yes, okay, will do," he says and then leans forward to kiss her lightly, his heart beating fast and ready to jump out of his throat.

She cups his face with steady hands, which is just as well, since he's pretty sure he's trembling, which is all kinds of embarrassing. "Are you okay?" she asks, pulling away and resting her forehead against his.

"Oh, uh, yeah. This is…me happy. Really happy. Over the moon."

She the corner of her mouth quirks up. 

He sneaks a hand to her lower back and kisses her again, mouth open against hers, which she takes advantage of with gusto, which, bless her because it probably would've taken him at least twenty minutes to work up the nerve to get all the way to first base.

She presses her chest against his and the soft pressure of her breasts sets something off in him and he takes control, his other hand on her neck and jaw and he's so _hot_ all of a sudden – her tongue in his mouth and the skin of her lower back (when the fuck did his hand do that?) and he exhales shakily and he thinks he makes some sort of noise, so he hopes it's something attractive and not like a squealing pig.

"Huh," Lydia exhales, voice breathy and low and Stiles is really fucking hard right now. "I'm impressed." She straddles Stiles' hips, grinding down on his dick and he's so proud of himself for not coming in that moment. "Impress me more."

He swallows, simultaneously intimidated and aroused, which isn't an unfamiliar combination of sensations when it comes to Lydia, but then again, he's never had her in his lap, which is the best thing _ever_.

"I uh…don't…" he trails off, hands resting on her waist. _SAFE SEX_ is blaring loudly in his head and he guesses the annoying health teacher in middle school did her job right because all he can think about is _doubling up_ and not having a condom all.

She places her hands on his chest and blows a strand of hair out of her face.

"Be creative," she whispers, inching forward to kiss him, a teasing smile on her lips.

He moves his lips against hers and the tension in his chest eases a little. It's still a novelty, kissing her (he thinks it will be for a long, long while), and after a few minutes he asks, "Uh, is this really happening?"

"I thought we covered that this wasn't a dream."

"No, I mean…I really like you. A lot. My feelings probably don't fall under like anymore, that's how…massive this is for me, so. Is that…good with you?"

Lydia slides her hands to his face, one hand running through his hair and the other cupping his cheek. "Yeah. I want this. You. Is that _good_ with you?"

Stiles smiles and nods. "Can I…uh?"

"So eloquent – you're lucky that I'm aware you're usually second in all the classes I'm in with you, otherwise I'd be under the impression that you're a bigger moron than you already are."

He pouts. "I am a seventeen-year-old virgin making out with the most amazing girl in my life – cut me a _little_ slack here. Maybe I'll get over it." He sits up and moves a hand up to her chest, resting on her heart, which skips under his palm. "But probably not anytime soon," he adds more seriously.

She tries to laugh, but it sounds strained, her eyes wide and bright. He goes to drop his hand because he can _feel her boobs, oh my god_ , but she places her hands on his own. She tries to give an eyebrow raise, urging him to touch, but he thinks it's more desperate, more of something that fits the raging exposure happening in his room.

He finds her mouth in the darkness and eventually he works his way to her chest, automatically squeezing and rubbing a thumb over her nipple, amazed how it hardens under his touch and _how is this happening_.

She whimpers in his mouth, rolling her hips down harder. "Please," she murmurs, guiding his hand under her ( _his_ ) shirt and he places a lingering kiss on her lips before moving down to her jawline and neck.

"Tell me what you want," he says, voice tight and he's literally a second away from coming. "I want –"

"Do what you want," she breathes, a hand going to the back of his neck, whimpering when he sucks a little on her pulse point.

A little more than drunk on her, he slowly moves his hand on her chest down to her waist, past her stomach…hips…

He stops at the elastic band of her ( _his_ ) shorts because even though she said _anything_ , he's still an idiot with anything involving sex with other people.

She moves his head so she's kissing him hard and sloppy. "Yes, yes, yes." It's a whispered chant and he continues his journey downward and _fuck_ , she's not wearing underwear, which makes _him_ whimper of all things.

"Girls don't sleep in _thongs_ , Stilinski," Lydia scoffs without much bite, but her breath hitches when he feels her clit and he _maybe_ grins at how wet she is. "Shut up."

He laughs a little, resting his forehead on her shoulder. He wants to say _I love you_ here, because in this moment he knows for sure, but he holds back, deciding to kiss her instead and hopes maybe she can understand the magnitude of what he feels.

He's curious – softly exploring her clit and the opening of her cunt – he's learned about female anatomy in health class and has certainly watched enough porn to get a good grasp of what to do, but he appreciates having tactile knowledge; he's always been better learning that way.

"Stiles," she says, her voice throaty, "If you don't move your admittedly beautiful fingers right now at a speed that will get me off, I'm going to step on your foot in my stilettos the next time I see you."

He squeaks. "You wouldn't."

"Fingers. To the clitoris."

He pouts, but does what she says, working two fingers around her cunt slowly until she grips his hair and says, "Faster and harder. I'm not going to break."

He almost makes a snarky comment about being bossy, but he should definitely listen to her if he wants to do it again, and he does. In many different positions and places, maybe. (He has a few ideas.)

He can get addicted to the way she shudders and groans in his ear and how soft she is – he wants to be _inside_ her, but his hand is cramping and he can't imagine the dexterity to slip a finger inside, at least with her in his lap.

He's about to suggest that maybe she be under him for the sake of ease, but her groans are turning into whimpers and she's moving against him, faster, and even though he knows his hand is fucked like no other, he keeps going and he muffles a cry in her neck, his dick almost hurting by how hard he is.

Finally her hand in his hair tightens so it's almost painful and she winds up, body taught and feeling her come, shudder and _pulse_ against him makes him come in his boxers, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes but he can't bring himself to care.

Eventually she notices though and she gently tugs at his hair, pulling him away from her neck so his face is in full view.

"You okay?" she asks, sounding _wrecked_ and _beautiful_.

He laughs with embarrassment. "Yeah, just. It was…intense. A lot. But in an awesome, amazing way."

He takes her hand out of her ( _his_ ) shorts and isn't sure what to do with it – he honestly really wants to taste, but he's not sure if that's gross or not. He thinks it can come across as leery. "I need to change, like. Right now before things get…unpleasant. Even though this whole…post-coital thing is really nice."

Lydia sighs and unceremoniously plops herself backwards and off his lap. It's far from graceful, but it makes him surge forward and kiss her because he loves intense, scary, sharp Lydia with flawless makeup and killer heels, but he also loves the way she blushes and the way she laughs like a kid sometimes, the few moments when she's awkward with her body –

When he pulls back, she smiles at him and pulls back the band of his boxers, letting it snap lightly against his skin. "Tomorrow," she promises.

He smiles nervously. "It may only last like, five seconds."

"It'll be a hot five seconds then," she teases.

He's sure that there is something inherently hot about making someone come instantly, but the Patriarchy or the Man or just years of being around lacrosse douches has taught him otherwise.

"Oh, Stiles," she sighs, lightly pushing him away to get him back on track. "I'm going to tweak some things in that brain of yours."

"Can't wait."

And he really can't – it's going to be _sick._


End file.
